ome one remarked that
certain portions yet to be written must be a gigantic task, the master
smiled, and Constanze said to the Countess, so loudly that Mozart must
needs hear: "He has ideas which he works at secretly; before me,
sometimes."

"You are playing your part badly, my dear," he interrupted. "What if I
should want to begin anew? And, to tell the truth, I'd rather like to."

"Leporello!" cried the Count, springing up and nodding to a servant.
"Bring some wine. Sillery--three bottles."

"No, if you please. That is past; my husband will not drink more than he
still has in his glass."

"May it bring him luck--and so to every one!"

"Good heavens! What have I done," lamented Constanze, looking at the
clock. "It is nearly eleven, and we must start early tomorrow. How shall
we manage?"

"Don't manage at all, dear Frau Mozart."

"Sometimes," began Mozart, "things work out very strangely. What will my
Stanzl say when she learns that the piece of work which you are going to
hear came to life at this very hour of the night, just before I was to
go on a journey?"

"Is it possible! When? Oh! three weeks ago, when you were to go to
Eisenstadt."

"Exactly. This is how it came about. I came in after ten (you were fast
asleep) from dinner at the Richters'. and intended to go to bed early,
as I had promised, for I was to start very early in the morning.
Meanwhile Veit had lighted the candles on the writing-table, as usual. I
made ready for bed mechanically, and then thought I would take just a
look at the last notes I had written. But, cruel fate! with woman's
deuced inconvenient spirit of order you had cleared up the room and
packed the music--for the Prince wished to see a number or two from the
opera. I hunted, grumbled, scolded-all in vain. Then my eye fell on a
sealed envelope from Abbate--his pot-hooks in the address. Yes; he had
sent me the rest of his revised text, which I had not hoped to see for
months. I sat down with great curiosity and began to read, and was
enraptured to find how well the fellow understood what I wanted. It was
all much simpler, more condensed, and at the same time fuller. The scene
in the churchyard and the _finale_, with the disappearance of the hero,
were greatly improved. 'But, my excellent poet,' I said to myself, 'you
need not have loaded me with heaven and hell a second time, so
carelessly.'

"Now, it is never my habit to write any number out of order, be it never
so tempting;